How Lucky We Are
by PenguinSnuggles
Summary: A girl whose parents were killed when she was young, whose aunt who raised her has now died, is now moving in with her closest remaining relatives, the Hughes'. Haven't decided what 'ship' this is yet. Turtles! Rating may change, for LANGUAGE ONLY!
1. Central EDITED

A/N: The title comes from a song by Meiko. I love the song, and I thought I might incorporate some of the points of it into my story. Also, I know that I need to update on "Trust", and "Let Me Be Your Peace of Mind", I'm getting to it soon :). Turtles. UDATE: This is edited, because I'm not the clearest transmutation circle in the research.

How Lucky We Are

Chapter One

"Central"

-

At some point, I stopped the heavy breathing I started when I hopped on the train at home.

I tried to look normal (I had already scared the little girl who sat across the aisle from me), and I was doing okay—until the conductor casually dropped a bomb (at least, for me): "We'll be arriving in Central shortly—I hope you all have a great time in our big city."

All my bags were beside me on the long bench seat, on the window's side, and I slumped against them. The heavy breathing was back.

What I couldn't understand, was why I was so nervous. I didn't do this when I faced coyotes that were trying to attack our livestock, and I didn't feel any hesitation. . .then.

My small panic attack was paused when I thought of the past few years.

I'd been staying at my aunt's house, in a rural area, helping her work on her farm that she'd been managing alone since her husband died.

She'd come to collect me—when my parents died. I'd first met her when she walked up to my friend's house, where I was, instead of my parents house.

At her house, I'd had little nightmares for the first few weeks.

Nightmares about men, storming into our house. Killing the friends we had downstairs. I was found by them, hiding in our pantry cabinet. By someone in charge. The men with guns had still been around, and when I was pulled out of the house by the military men, I'd seen it all.

I'd seen the man, standing there with one of the few bloodied guns, having his shoulder rubbed by another man who looked sympathetic.

He'd called out to me, softly for one second, that night.

It was where my nightmare's all ended—when he said, "I'm so sorry."

I was fearless that night—I followed my father's orders flawlessly, and even though I didn't know what was going on. All I knew was that I had to listen to him because it was important.

Coyotes I could handle. Following my father's words I could handle.

I couldn't handle being in any sort of proximity with then men that killed my parents.

////\\\\

As I saw the rolling rooftops of the city of Central, I pulled my legs up against me. I'd been unlucky, again—my aunt, an old woman who's husband had already died of disease, had left this world peacefully. Her husband was my father's brother, and was much younger than my aunt. She'd died quietly, and I was glad—the only other death I'd experienced was too horrible, because it never gave me time to say goodbye. I think I'd said goodbye and goodnight to my Aunt Isabelle at least three dozen times.

The years I spent with her, I hadn't once cut my hair, and as we flew through a small forest, I noticed how long it was in my reflection. How did it get just past my elbow?

I'd seen pictures of my Aunt Isabelle before her hair turned silver—it was a dark auburn like mine. I couldn't tell very well through the black and white photograph, but I believe that her skin was as pale back then as mine was now. I wasn't sure if the pale skin she had when she'd been elderly was just a sign of age.

Where hers was stick straight, however, mine curled—almost to the point where I had snarls in it every day. I'd once had bangs, about a year ago—now they just framed my face from one side, and stayed out of my eyes, for the most part.

For a moment, I smiled at myself—my aunt was always telling me to never get so thin, like she had been when she was my age. It never helped, she said, to be weak. She liked it when I worked, and then stretched, out in the summer sun on her farm. Told me, more than once, that my muscles would attract a better kind of man.

My skin smoothed over my lean muscles—from days of working out in the field, and chasing after the livestock, I was quick and strong.

I frowned, though, when I saw the first building fly by.

We were in Central.

I'd lost another family member, and was being passed onto the next one, just like before. This time, I wasn't sure if I could handle it as well—I'd been told, by an automail maker in town who went to Central a lot to get parts, that the family I was being entrusted to, my mother's cousins, were a known military family.

I was nervous, too, just because the husband of my mother's cousin was part of the government.

I'd never had to be near military personnel since that day, when my parents died. Now, though, I couldn't see how I could handle just being in his presence. Just as I'd been doing through all the train ride, I thought of possible ways to just avoid him. It would be better than freaking out every time he got close.

I had a bad feeling I wouldn't be able to do that, though.

////\\\\

Sitting in a car in the lot of the train station, Maes Hughes talked to his wife through his car phone.

"Hm, yea, I have a bad feeling about it too—but, hunny, the house is no where near the station, and Headquarters is right by. I have to get those files from Mustang about the boys. I'd feel bad if she still has some sort of fear of men in uniform, but I can't help it."

His wife sighed, and said, "Ms. Gardens said that she didn't have to deal with any people of the military out where they lived, because it was so rural and a self sufficient town. She didn't know if Paisley had any problems with them—but she said that in the first few weeks after it happened, she was having nightmares."

Hughes sighed. "Geez, that doesn't help." He looked at his watch, seeing he still had a half hour before her train rolled in.

However, he could almost hear his wife smile on the other side of the line before saying, "Well, I believe that the only way to get her to be comfortable in Central is to get her to adjust to you. Just be yourself, I know you have no problem with that, and don't worry—she'll come to like you sooner than later."

Hughes laughed. How did his wife always know?

///\\\

In the span of the few minutes it took the train to fly through Central and work it's way to the station, I'd made a resolution.

After a while, I was still thinking about Aunt Isabelle. She'd never talked about my mother's cousins, or anyone she might have known from the military. I just knew, however, what she would say if she saw me acting so anxious.

I had decided long ago not to hold any malice against anyone—not even the military.

I'd seen my Aunt Isabelle take in people who had cheated her in the prices she paid for her supplies, and I'd seen her give away vegetables and fruit to people who she knew, had once stolen from her fields.

She was always preaching forgiveness, and I'd taken it in over the years.

So, I steeled myself for a moment as the train hummed to a stop, and then relaxed. I could handle this. I should. I would.

As I walked off the train, the first person I saw, without having to look, was a man in full military uniform, leaning on a pillar across the station, trying to catch my eye. So, I smiled at him.

Almost laughed, too, when I caused him to startle for a moment. The shock was evident on his face for a small moment. I hiked the bag I had on my shoulder up higher, and grabbed the suitcase I brought with me, before walking towards him. "Hello," the man said, "are you Paisley Harris?"

My smile widened, as all my fear had washed away with my thoughts of Aunt Isabelle, and I said, "Yes, and you must be Mr. Hughes, am I right?"

His answering smile was blinding, almost, as he exclaimed, "Oh, my, you're the cutest! Mr. Hughes, indeed. You can call me Maes, Paisley, and I'm sure my wife wont mind if you call her Gracia. Speaking or which, would you like to see pictures? My wife and my daughter Elicia are just the most adorable pair!"

I nodded, before shooing him away from picking up my bag, and said, kindly, "I can carry my bags myself, Maes."

He just agreed with me, before we walked towards the end of the train. Along with numerous merchants waiting for their supplies to be let out of the end car, we stood watching for my things.

Some men who recognized my cousin helped us carry everything to his car, that was nearby. He was saluted, and I just raised my eyebrows to myself.

I did my best not to let any doubts about my state of fearlessness seep in when he said, "Look, I know this might not be the best time, but I need to go to my workplace to pick up something from my boss. I would need for you to come inside with me."

By workplace, he meant whatever military building he worked in. There were probably, I realized, going to be more than just one military personnel walking around.

However, I just nodded, and said, "Alright," quietly.

////\\\\

Roy Mustang sat in his office, doing paperwork under the watchful eye of Riza Hawkeye. "You know," he said, "I really don't have to be doing this now. I can all wait until later." She sent him a sharp look that stopped him from saying anything else at the time, and said, "You've had most of thing piling up since the beginning of the week. Do you have the folder for Maes on hand?"

His eyes furrowed. "I thought he got it earlier from you?"

Her face, still serious, but not surprised that he forgot. "No, he's coming about now to get it from you. I think he has to bring his cousin, too."

Riza was surprised, though, when he dropped his pen on the pile of work, and held his face in his hands for a second. He didn't make a sound, or move, for a little while. She shouldn't have to see him.

No, he thought, it wasn't for her. She wouldn't remember his face, it was too long ago—she probably remembers what happened, but she couldn't possibly know his face. He'd changed a little, too, since his younger field days.

Since the war.

Really, he just didn't want to see her. He hadn't even told Maes yet—he should have, too, because then he wouldn't be bringing her here. Mustang admitted to himself that he wasn't okay with seeing her face, her eyes. She couldn't remember him, but he remembered her face, and her eyes. She was the first person who's seen him just after he killed her family.

At the time, even though it was an order that he had to follow, he'd said those words to her as the commanding officer dragged her out of the house.

He sighed, his face still in his hands.

"I'll find it."

////\\\\

I was amazed at all the buildings by the time we reached his Headquarters. Being from a spaced out suburb with my parents, and then in a rural farm country with my Aunt Isabelle, I'd never seen so many large, stone and brick buildings put so close together in one, huge space.

Maes laughed at me as I gazed out the windows, gaping at the large groups of people walking in, around, and beside the cars that drove by.

"How does it all work together without anyone getting hurt?" I asked, aloud, without thinking. He chuckled a bit, before pointing out a man who stood in the middle of the street in a uniform similar to the one Maes was wearing now. "He conducts all the cars to go where the want to go at the right times, along with the groups of people. Most are pretty good at it, and everything goes smoothly."

"Whoa," I said quietly, thinking about how the officer looked like a conductor.

We parked, and soon I was just following behind Maes like a lost puppy, swinging my bag around by my feet as we walked through the halls to what was supposed to be his bosses office.

His name was apparently Roy Mustang, as I'd been told my Maes, and I was to watch out and make sure that he was never behind me. He wouldn't tell me why though, so I just smiled and said, sure.

I felt out of place in my cotton dress—I wasn't sure of the weather here, so I had but this on to look presentable, and then kept a sweater and umbrella in my bag. My shoes were adorably practical white, thin sneakers, that were small enough to show the tops of my ankle socks.

It had been warmer than I thought it would be, in fact, any my hair was now drawn up into my favorite green clip; my bangs were still flying around my face.

I came up behind him when we stopped at a large door, and came in with him tentatively. There were people at desks that Maes waved to when he walked in, and I nodded at, to not be rude.

A woman walked out of a door at the other end of the room, and her eyes lit with recognition. She didn't smile, and looked more professional than all the men in the room combinded. I liked her—my father always had respect for professional people.

"Ah, Riza," Maes said, saluting her. She saluted him back, and said, "Mustang had the folder ready for you."

He nodded and headed towards the door. I didn't follow, not sure if I should, and sighed in relief when he turned and said, "Hey, Paisley, why don't you just hang around with these people for a few minutes—I need to talk to my boss."

I agreed with a smile, and he nodded back at me, before slipping into the room.

I couldn't hear any noise from his office, and noticed that the blond woman who had been in there before was trying to catch my eye, very surreptitiously. "Oh," I said, slipping back into formal recognition of Maes "Sorry. I'm Paisley Harris, Mr. Hughes' cousin. I'll be staying with him and his wife for a while."

"It's nice to meet you," she said, her voice just as professional and monotonous as her crisp appearance, "I'm Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."

I nodded low to her and sent her a small smile, which I was surprised to see she returned. A man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth lifted his feet off his desk, and stood up.

"I'm Jean Havoc," he said, leaning in to shake my hand. I noticed how he didn't tack on his title (if he had one, which I presumed he should), so I didn't give him my smile. He seemed completely disrespectful, and as I took his hand, I pulled him close. Then, with just a quick smirk, I ripped out the cigarette from his mouth.

"That's an awful habit, and is completely unacceptable in large public places—especially, I would think, your work, Mr. Havoc."

I was glad to see that I got a small chuckle out of Lieutenant Hawkeye, and went around to shake hands with the rest of the people who looked like they worked regularly in that office.

Mr. Havoc didn't pull out another cigarette when I was there, but I was pretty sure he would after I left.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise from the room that Maes was in. I sent a wondering look to Lieutenant Hawkeye, but couldn't ask a question about it, because soon Maes was jumping out of his office, taking a stumbling man by the hand, yelling, "Oh, but you must meet my adorable cousin, she's the sweetest, most adorable little farm girl you'll ever meet."

I sent him a look for the 'farm girl' comment.

Then, though, was when I saw the man's face.

////\\\\

A/N: I didn't want it too long—sorry for stopping it right there. That, and I have to get ready for church. I'm going to try to write the second chapter when I get home, later. Maybe I'll post it today, but I will probably save it for tomorrow. Then, this story and my others will get updates at least once a week, because I'm _finally_ up to date on all my work, and I have the time. Oh, and I'm basing this on the 2003 anime. I had to choose one, because the manga and anime are totally different. Although, I haven't memorized anything, and I might have a lot of gaps in my story. Please, inform me if you find a rather big one, and I'll try to fix it!


	2. The Song of Peace EDITED

A/N:Hm, it's late. :) UPDATE: I've totally forgotten that we don't see Gracia pregnant. I have no idea why I thought she was, but apparently I'm just going crazy. So, this chapter and the first are going to be a little edited.

How Lucky We Are

Chapter Two

"The Song of Peace"

-

The man Maes had been pulling out of the office was trying to pull back and hide his face. Maes, who turned out to be more of an enthusiast than I thought I was going to meet, didn't give up, and soon had him straight, and facing me.

Just where he didn't want to be, apparently—because in a heartbeat, I recognized him.

It was silent for a moment; everyone was staring, wondering why their boss had a defeated look on his face, staring anywhere but my eyes, and why I was gaping with wide eyes at him.

The things I _could_ have done, rushed by my eyes. Me screaming. Me rushing at him and hitting him. Me accusing.

For one second, the forgiveness I'd been taught didn't matter, because I never thought, in a million years, that the first day I was brought into a place that had plenty of the military men I hadn't had contact with in years, I'd see the man who did everything. The man who stole any childhood memories I might have had with my parents. The man who'd killed them, and plenty others. Enough to be worth his life, and so many, many more.

I gulped, and shut my mouth—because suddenly, I'd seen it in another, completely different perspective.

I had no idea how long we'd been standing exactly like that, but I was glad that everyone stayed silent. So many things were going off in my head that I wasn't sure if I should have been taking up a days time with all the synapses.

Finally, I saw that my forgiveness was right—and that letting the problem go was the wrong way to go about it. I should have seen what I saw now. I should have seen all the people he _had_ killed, and how he must have felt, as just a soldier, meant and hired to kill, with no choice but to do his job if he was going to change anything.

The trigger was that look, that defeated, apologetic look that, even though he was looking anywhere but at me, was directed at me, for what he'd done.

Then, I felt so, so sorry. I felt pity like no ones business.

My eyes popped, as I saw that he was crippling under my glazed line of vision. I wrapped my arms around me (because I couldn't have done this any other way) and walked forward, towards him, slowly.

Now, I could have disregarded my recognition, and just smile and pretend to be ignorant.

Instead, I tilted my head so that I captured his gaze, even if he didn't want me to, and said, quietly so that only he, I, and maybe Maes and Lieutenant Hawkeye because they were close, "I accept your apology."

I saw the confused looks from Lieutenant Hawkeye and Maes; apparently they did hear. He looked up, actually meeting my eyes, and stiffened his back straight. His shoulders pulled back, and only then did he look like the man I'd expected when I first heard about Maes' boss.

His lips pressed together, as if he didn't know what to say.

There was a collective gasp as he said, just as quietly, "Thank you." Then, he left, into his office, closing his door. I felt bad, because inside, I'd been hoping for a better reaction. I realized then, though, that I was probably going to spend a little more time around him, now that I was living with someone who reported to him.

Then again, I thought, I didn't exactly get the vibe that Maes worked under him. Perhaps they were just good friends that shared information, because they seemed to close to be in any work relationship.

I had explaining to do later, apparently, because Maes sent me a look that screamed, "Explain. Now," in the worst way.

I moved my head in the direction of the door, just like I'd seen my Aunt Isabelle do a million times, and I felt a little giddy to have a reason to do it myself, even if that was a little silly.

We walked out in tough silence, even though I was content. I was pleased, knowing that I'd have time to sort everything out later, and that what I'd just done was enough, for now.

I smiled, lazily, at Maes, and said, "I can't wait to meet your wife."

As expected, he grinned, and said, "Oh, just you see, my wife is the best! She's completely gorgeous, no person her age is prettier!" In the moment where I thought he would take out more pictures like ones he'd shone me in his car, though, he said, "But I'm not leaving this subject. What happened back there?"

He was hesitant, now, though, as if he thought he shouldn't know. I guess you have that a lot, in the military.

My Aunt Isabelle told me, every now and then, about some troubles the military faced. She'd never told me a bad thing about them, though she spoke seldom of any government issues.

She'd never once mentioned what someone, specifically the military or otherwise, felt about killing when they weren't enjoying it, but she always said things about people who sinned because it was part of their job, or because it was expected, and that we should seek those out, and give them the strength to realized their wrongs.

I'd seen that Roy Mustang, the name to the face I'd seen in my dreams for weeks at a time, had realized and felt bad for his wrongs.

"Well," I started, not really knowing how to say something like this. In the end, I just said it, knowing that it shouldn't effect anything. "He's the man who killed my parents." I felt like tacking on a sir, that sentence was so cold.

I was glad that Maes took that better than I though he would. He became serious, and looked straight forward as we walked. "Well," he said, "He's done that more than once, I suppose."

In the car, on the way to his house to unload and meet his wife, though, he said, "Thank you for forgiving him, though."

Maes' wife, Gracia, greeted me with a bigger smile than I'd put on all day.

Their daughter was more than adorable, imploring me to play with her blocks the entire time after moving my things and around dinner time.

Time had flown by, and the sun was far away when we walked up his steps. I was ushered inside, and was thankful for the warmth, something that stayed inside Central's houses, apparently, but not in it's streets.

Maes and I lugged in all of my things—there wasn't a lot, but you couldn't tell when we were taking breaks halfway up the stairs—into the one of the two spare bedrooms that Maes had at the end of the hall upstairs.

We settled down to dinner soon, though, and I was able to rest while I ate a delicious meal made by Gracia. "This is great," I told her, and Elicia, their daughter, agreed. Aunt Isabelle never cooked—she hated being cooped up in a hot kitchen, even though ours was so open, and I always ended up making our meals. She always complimented me, though, even if it was because if I was happy I would never make her do anything in the kitchen.

We worked together like that well. I would work the field, and keep the house clean, and cook our meals, but she was good with numbers. We went down to the town every other week, and she would be incredible at selling all the various goods we'd grown.

One craft she did well, that I wasn't in charge of, was making toys.

Most of the toys she made, she gave away. I didn't get many—just one every other birthday. Others she would send far away, and sell over the phone.

Gracia smiled across the table at me, and said, "Thank you, Paisley."

She was so motherly, I was surprised that she didn't have more children already. Of course, I didn't mention that. After being around Maes for more than a couple hours, though, I figured that she'd just been maternal in the first place—and marrying Maes just intensified to need to be caring and wise; Elicia wasn't really any less enthusiastic than Maes, either.

I felt like I should be thanking them for their hospitality, but in some way it just didn't feel right to. Of course, I was grateful, and would tell them that often, but anything formal seemed out of place.

Knowing there was more tension than openness in the air, I left to go to sleep in my new room.

Unlike the last time I was traded, though, my small nightmare wasn't about my parents.

_I was standing somewhere high. _

_ The wind was rough, but not enough to knock me off. I didn't know what I was wearing, or if I was even myself—all I could see was what was happening beneath me. _

_ It was a battle, unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Smoke and dust flew up from the ground as explosions went off in different places, and people fought against each other. Lightning seemed to spring up from the ground, and the land moved in masses. _

_ Suddenly, my head shot up, and I saw giant machines moving over head, flying. My eyes burst open in surprise. I'd never seen flying aircraft before, although I'd certainly heard of it._

_ I looked to my left, and saw a boy with long blond hair rushing towards me. He grabbed me, screaming "You've got to get out of here, Paisley!"_

Then, I woke up.

A/N: Wow, I keep cutting the story at these places, don't I? Oh well, you'll forgive me (hopefully). Before I go, I have to shout out to three people who gave me awesome reviews. Thank you guys, I loved them. Also, a thank you to anyone who's _already_ put my story on their favorite or story alert list—you're awesome! Turtles.


End file.
